The Ghostwriter's Words

Claire: Falling Through Shreds of Reality

"It's like you're reading one another's minds," Claire accused Sara, Sammy, and the Professor. She'd been trying to follow their eye movements and changes of facial expressions like some new sport where she didn't understand the rules but assumed there must be more than one ball in play at a time.

"Hey! There you are!" Sara responded, seeming startled to see her. "Sorry. I can't imagine how confused you must be."

Claire's hair was a tangled mess, and she was still more asleep than awake. She'd complained she was exhausted and felt dirty. And her new acquaintance, the Professor, showed her where she could shower (bathe, if she preferred) and get some rest. "The better to keep me from running off," she'd grumbled to herself, then fallen face-first into bed, naked, too tired to dry herself or brush her hair after scouring that horrid day from her skin in that fabulous shower. That alone might be worth staying a few days.

"Sammy, this is Claire. Claire, this is Sammy. And you've met the Professor. Oh, and..." Sara sputtered, "Sammy said you could stay. Crap, that didn't come out quite right did it? I should stop talking and will, as soon as we get you a Magick Hat."

"Can I now?" Claire replied, with sarcasm, "Are you telling me that I have to stay? Or that I have permission to hang around? Or, most importantly, am I permitted to leave?" She looked each in the eye, then locked hers directly on Sara's. "Who are you people?" she asked. "Is your name even Sara? How about my name? Do you even know that yet?"

Sara's eyes had locked on Claire's as well, with an expression of absolute terror. She told Claire, "No. Of course, you don't have to stay. You aren't a prisoner. But I don't think you can go home either. Those fanatics will kill you the first chance they get. Then send me the pictures of your bloody headless corpse."

Claire shrugged, then turned back through the house, heading for the front door. Sara raced ahead of her, dropping to the floor and wrapping herself around Claire's legs like a little kid not wanting their mother to leave them at school. "Please?"

"Please, what?" Claire demanded, still groggy from her nap and clearly annoyed with Sara clinging to her legs.

"You can leave whenever you want. But please stay for now. At least stay the night. There is so much I need to tell you. Good things, I think, once you understand. Sammy and the Professor can explain everything and answer your questions if you don't believe me. I'll even leave the room if you want. But, please stay, and hear what they say."

When Claire's only response was the effort to break one leg free and drag Sara's body along toward the door, Sara told her, "If you go, I'm coming with you."

"What if I don't want you? What if I don't love you anymore?"

"Don't you?" Sara challenged, looking up at Claire from the floor. "I don't believe you. I think you are scared, confused, and angry. And I don't blame you. But I know you love me. What I've seen in your eyes for the past fifteen years doesn't go away because you're hurt and pissed off."

"Yeah, all that," Claire finally agreed. "I hate you, but I probably do still love you. What difference does that make? Who are you? What are you? Any of you?"

"Stay. Please. If you let me, I'll love you forever."

"And, 'forever is a very long time,'" Claire spat back at Sara with venom. "Or so you keep saying."

"Forever is a very long time," echoed both Sammy and the Professor. His voice soft, the Professor added, "You should let us explain. Otherwise, you will be in constant danger, without understanding why or from whom. Let us at least talk about that. So, you'll know."

Claire said nothing but stopped trying to kick her leg free of Sara's grasp as she listened. Although Claire had no way yet to know the Professor's predilections or personal history, she did find him charming.